Sunday, August 6, 2017

What can we say come August 13? 10th after Pentecost

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There’s
no greater extended drama in the Bible than Genesis 37-50 – but as the
lectionary (understandably!) lops off scene 1 (chapter 37) from the rest of the
story, it seems to me that to preach on just this will inevitably have to jump
ahead, or reduce things to moralisms – or we take the notion of “dream” and
launch off into whatever.I’ll wait
until the climax in chapter 45 next week to pick up the thread from ch. 37.

Parenthetically,
the Revised Common Lectionary always lists “alternate readings,” and this
week’s are lovely.The Psalm has that
poetic, picturesque verse 10: “Steadfast love and faithfulness will meet;
righteousness and peace will kiss each other.”And then 1 Kings 19:9-18 – God not coming to the shattered, lonely and
forlorn Elijah in the storm but in the sheer silence/still small voice.

So
this week I’m tackling the Gospel.Frankly, Matthew 14:22-33 is a text I always avoided until, given no
choice at all as a guest preacher, I spoke from this text at Duke Chapel three years ago.My avoidance could be chalked up to two
things: (a) the dreadfully trite “when the storms of life are raging” sermon is
so predictable and corny – but maybe you can make it work; and then (b) the
mentally awkward image of walking on water; I’m sure the pious happily devour
such texts, but cynics (like me) just get derailed.We can make it into a cute image (a la John
Ortberg’s If you want to walk on water,
you’ve got to get out of the boat – which has a fair amount of wisdom,
actually, but just isn't my style).

But I like to ground things
in hard reality.I love taking groups to
the Sea of Galilee, where we experience two moments sequentially.I take them to see the “Jesus boat,” that
amazing underwater archaeological find of a real wooden fishing boat from the
time of Jesus, now housed attractively at Kibbutz Ginnosar.I joke that I wish the boat had “S.S. Simon
Peter” carved into the brow… but here is a boat Jesus surely saw, perhaps
stepped into, or even fished from.Jesus, the fishermen, the sea: real things, real places, God in the
flesh.

Then
we sail out onto Galilee, and I love it when the captain turns off the motor,
and we just feel the quiet, the waves lapping against the boat, the
breeze.

One time we did have a storm
rage upon us suddenly – high drama.I
love in that moment to read a miracle story that’s tough enough – where the
storm rages, Jesus is mystifying asleep in the stern, and the disciples wake
him, asking if he even cares if they perish.Calmly he says “Peace, be still” – and although I know he’s addressing
the storm, I wonder if he was always speaking to the disciples.

We
tend to make this story symbolic, and the author has symbolic intentions – and yet
I am sure if you could ask Mark, Did this
really happen? he’d say Of course.Maybe ditto for the Walking on the Water –
which is tougher, as it’s not Jesus and nature, but a human being defying the
laws of physics, albeit with divine aid.Peter in the story evidently had precisely the same doubts I have just
voiced!What’s the preacher to do?

I
have let the questions be, even in the preaching moment – and have occasionally
asked a different kind of question.Want
to see miracles in this story?It’s not
the walking on water.It’s barely
noticeable, right before the storm: “Jesus went up on a mountain by himself to
pray” (14:23).Jesus did this often on the hills by Galilee,
maybe under some discipline or obligation, but probably out of a hunger to be
alone with God.We fear being alone; we
aren’t sure how to transform loneliness into solitude.We are always connected, always available –
and so we are never available or connected to God, or even to other
people.So explore the wonder of quiet,
prayer, contemplation, etc.Once I even
gave my people the last ten minutes of my sermon time just to sit and be
totally still and quiet.They seemed to
like that sermon more than when I’ve filled the time chattering away.

The
other strain on credulity?Jesus says “Have
no fear,” or “Be not afraid,” or “Do not be anxious.”This is the most frequently repeated
commandment in the Bible – and it feels like theological piling on, as we are
anxious, and God demanding we not be only makes it worse; we are clueless how
to ‘obey’ such a command.And yet there
it is.Maybe we learn, we grow, we
stretch, we engage in a program like Peter Scazzero’s Emotionally Healthy Spirituality, you get a breathing app for your
phone (as deep breathing seems to help – and this strikes me as biblically sensible!);
we ponder Scott Bader-Saye’s wisdom in his great book, Following Jesus in a Culture of Fear: “We fear excessively when we
allow the avoidance of evil to trump the pursuit of the good.When we fear excessively we live in a mode of
reacting to and plotting against evil rather than actively seeking and doing
what is good and right. Our overwhelming fears need to be overwhelmed by bigger
and better things.”

I
am fond of Madeleine L’Engle’s recollection (in Walking on Water) of swimming in and then sitting on
a rock overlooking Dog Pond, and thinking of Peter: “As long as he didn’t remember that we human beings have forgotten how
to walk on water, he was able to do it.”I think this text does invite us to dig deeply into our notions of what
is possible and impossible (a consistent scriptural theme, as in Gen. 17-18,
the Annunciation, etc.).Ponder with me
that Aristotle quote: “That which is impossible and probable is better than
that which is possible and improbable.”Or the great moment in Mark Helprin’s Winter’s Tale: “Miracles come to those who risk defeat in
seeking them. They come to those who have exhausted themselves completely in a
struggle to accomplish the impossible.”He explains that such “defiance” is “moved by love.”

Maybe
the sermon simply invites people to move in whatever risky, uncertain way
toward Jesus.St. Francis tried to take
each step of his day with Jesus’ actions and stories as his map, his
blueprint.Peter got chided for failing –
but at least he tried.I may trot out
that old but never worn out prayer from Thomas Merton (in Thoughts in Solitude): “My Lord God I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the
road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really
know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean
that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does
in fact please you. I hope I have that desire in all I am doing. I hope that I
will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I will do this you will
lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I
trust you always, though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I
will not fear, for you are ever with me.”************************************

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About Me

I’m pastor of Myers Park United Methodist Church in Charlotte, NC, and I also teach preaching and ministry at Duke Divinity School as an adjunct. I write regular inspirational/ educational pieces you’ll find here, reviews of books pertinent to faith today and ministry, and I love to be part of conversations about life with God and in the world among Christians and clergy.